


It's Not a Shrine

by 0Melting_Angels0



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Arguing, Based on a Tumblr Post, Comedy, Funny, I say short but, I'd been playing this game for 7 hours, It's like 4800 words, Johnny Silverhand - Freeform, My Tumblr Post, Oneshot, Other, Random & Short, Swearing, Take a shot every time I use the word fuck in this, That I made at 6am because, argument, like a lot, v - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:46:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Melting_Angels0/pseuds/0Melting_Angels0
Summary: "What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & Female V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V
Comments: 47
Kudos: 223





	It's Not a Shrine

**Author's Note:**

> So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.
> 
> Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.
> 
> Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.
> 
> Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against _Arasaka_ to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what _that_ was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind. They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even _with_ all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking _them_ over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well. 

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were. It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands? Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of _‘making it to the big leagues’_ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place. But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof. 

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking _Emperor_ had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan. V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado. V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it. 

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory. V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s. She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s _body_ being back in the car waiting for her. The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of _betrayal._ Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating _and_ a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked. But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is. Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after? That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical _and_ literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human _soul_ . Which was mind blowing as it was. But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them. They had Night City _legend_ Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for. Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end. And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family. Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body. 

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top. Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive. God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here. But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her _head_ against the fucking _wall_ . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking _bomb_ that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius. A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. _That was an understatement._ When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music. One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock. It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience. Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could. That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following. But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels. Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person ( _or angsty teen_ ) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld. _Ok, it was kind of an obsession_ . But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life. Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls ( _which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place_ ), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s _last_ concerts. A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that _and_ a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit. The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that. Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later. Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. _'Just following the slightest sense of fame'_ as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia. One of the ‘wild fan’s he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because _fuck)_ but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

_Fuck._

**_Fuckfuckfuckfuck_ ** **_fuckfuck fuck._ **

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?” 

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient. Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, _somehow,_ worse than the idea of who was basically her ( _he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes_ ) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door. At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did. That would be something. 

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing. In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall. Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside. 

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“ _What the fuck_?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard. It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band. Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. ( _Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey_ )

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the _fuck,_ V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock ( _no, totally real_ ) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a _shrine-_ ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their _living room wall_.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her ( _admittedly kind of oversized_ ) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you. Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer. 

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking _embarassed_ she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession. How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... _and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City._

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another _what the fuck_ , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster. Namely the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. ( _Taking up **that** whole section of wall._) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

 **Possibly the** **thirstiest** **fucking image that photographer could have taken.**

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. ( _Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave_ ) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after. 

**Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a** **_shred_ ** **of her dignity intact.**

However, Fate _(the **bitch** )_ seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

_Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…_

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the _entire_ **_goddamn_ ** _apartment._

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, ( _Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head)_ following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her _bed_ of all places. 

“ _Oh for **fuck’s** sake_-”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it. A somehow 4,800 word fic based on a shortass post I made on tumblr that a bunch of people somehow...really enjoyed. I had fun writing it. Hope you guys get even a fragment of that enjoyment reading it.
> 
> If you’d like additional scenes for whatever reason, hit me up with a comment.


End file.
